


it's just a spark

by amemorymaze



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Drug and Alcohol Use, Dumb boys are dumb, Fluff, M/M, Paris (City), Pining, Reunion, it's the city of love or something, photographer!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 01:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3231578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amemorymaze/pseuds/amemorymaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It’s there, in a tiny creperie off of the bustling streets of Paris, with a speck of chocolate on the corner of his lips and his hair still wet from the weather outside, that he sees him.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>He feels his heart stop in his chest, before beating one hundred times faster than it was – feeling like it could fly from his chest.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Because there is no way – absolutely no way – that this is happening; that Louis Tomlinson is standing at the counter speaking fluent French with a smile on his lips.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>There's a reunion, crepes, a birthday and too many feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's just a spark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jadedbastard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedbastard/gifts).



> I may have deviated from the prompt slightly and it may be a bit more angsty than I had planned, but I hope it's okay!

**now.**

He ducks his head as he makes his way through the streets of Paris; his long, dark, curled hair is wet and clinging to his forehead and neck, the collar of his long (not so waterproof) coat is unfolded as he tries to keep some warmth in. There’s a camera slung around his neck and his hands are covering it – trying to protect it from the rain that’s pouring from the overcast clouds above.

There’s a dark, gloomy city surrounding him that he can barely make out through the storm – only bright lights of shop signs and traffic lights visible.

Harry’s heart is like a weight in his chest, holding him down and holding in his breath.This wasn’t the plan. He’s not supposed to be here. He should be thousands of feet above the ground on his way back home – back to LA. He stops his train of thought and desperately doesn’t think of the fact that it’s his birthday in two days and the next flight he can get isn’t for three. Instead he lifts his head, only to get a face full of rainwater.

It’s then, as he tries to distinguish the shapes of the glooming city through the pouring rain, that he realises that he has this whole city in front of him and nothing to do.

He tries to catch his breath – tries to breathe again – and ignores the way the rain is hitting his body and soaking him to the bone. He just grasps his camera in his hands, looks through the lens and snaps a picture just as a bolt of lightning flashes across the sky.

It illuminates busy streets and Harry can spot a few people rushing in for shelter – umbrellas flying, hard to control. He drops his camera back around his neck, his breath coming back slowly as he tries to find somewhere he can take shelter.

He raises his gaze from the ground for a split second and spots a small creperie with the door slightly ajar; protected from the rain by the large awning overhead.

(And Harry may or may not take a few more photos before entering – he’s still trying to get back into the rhythm of this photography thing he used to be so into.)

As he steps into the building, warmth surrounds him, burning his freezing hands as he shrugs his wet coat from his shoulders and makes his way over to the counter. He breathes for what feels like the first time in forever.

And despite his god-awful French, he manages to order himself a crepe and it’s there, in a tiny creperie off of the bustling streets of Paris, with a speck of chocolate on the corner of his lips and his hair still wet from the weather outside, that he sees _him._

He feels his heart stop in his chest, before beating one hundred times faster than it was – feeling like it could fly from his chest.

Because there is no way – absolutely no way – that this is happening; that Louis Tomlinson is standing at the counter speaking fluent French with a smile on his lips.

But he is. Harry feels himself lose his grip on his book and itclatters to the table, the sound loud in the quiet shop as all eyes turn to Harry.

Harry sees Louis turn – sees the smile die on his lips as they notice each other; “Harry?”

And despite everything, Harry feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips as he lifts a hand and waves.

“A wave?” Louis says incredulously, a smile fluttering on his mouth; “After all this time, all I get is a _wave?_ Come here you idiot.”

The smile on his face grows as Harry stumbles to his feet and carefully moves towards Louis, who takes a step forward before pulling Harry into a bone-crushing hug.

Harry finds himself slotting into Louis arms like he used to all those years ago – his head tucked against Louis’ neck and his arm wrapped around his back as Louis winds his around Harry’s waist.

And when they finally pull apart, both their eyes are suspiciously wet and overly bright. But all they can do is smile at each other, blinding smiles that seem to light up the entire room, despite the gloomy weather outside.

“We have _a lot_ of catching up to do, Styles,” Louis says as he grabs his order from the waitress, who’s smiling at the two of them, and heads to Harry’s table, dropping his umbrella and bag under the table before sitting in the seat opposite Harry’s.

“C’mon, Haz,” Louis says and Harry smiles even wider, “You’ve got to tell me _everything._ ”

 

**then.**

He wonders how he got here – sitting in an old abandoned farmhouse behind the sloping garden of Liam’s house. The five of them, barely eighteen, are sitting around and lounging on stacks of hay and old benches and beams.

There’s rain pouring outside with some drops filtering through the old, cracked ceiling above them. With smoke in the air and a bottle of whisky on the floor, a flash of lightning from the world outside illuminates their faces.

Between white flashes of blinding light and the flame Zayn holds in his hand as he burns a needle red hot, the only sounds to be heard are the harsh fall of water over their heads and the soft gasps of pain Harry lets out.

The floor is hard where he lays; his head in Louis’ lap with fingers tangled in his dark curls. Sprawled across the floor with a pot of ink by his ankle, Harry lets Louis lean down over him from where he’s sitting with his legs crossed as he plays with Harry’s hair with one hand.

Harry just watches with wide eyes as Louis gets closer and closer, breathing in the smoke from the joint that’s pressed to his lips. Unconsciously, Harry licks his lips, he can smell the sickly sweet smell of weed in the air and it almost makes him forget the pain in his leg.

Then Louis’ pulling the joint away from his mouth and leans impossibly close just as Harry opens his mouth. He presses their lips together in what could be a kiss (it isn’t) and presses the smoke into Harry’s mouth.

He breathes in with his eyes closed softly and just _feels._

He lets Louis push the smoke into his mouth and inhales and breathes it in. It’s only when Louis is pulling away and Harry lets his mouth fall shut in an attempt to keep the smoke there, that he opens his eyes.

Louis’ face is still close and Harry could probably count all of his eyelashes and all of his freckles. There’s a lazy smile twitching at Louis’ lips and Harry finds it contagious.

He exhales the smoke, letting it fall from his lips and smiles widely at the boy hovering above him. Their breath is mingling together as the rain crashes above them and it’s as if the five of them have their own little world away from reality.

Niall’s sprawled across a beam five feet from the ground as he hums out soft melodies and Liam’s beside Zayn with heavily lidded eyes, watching as he pricks the ink into the skin on Harry’s ankle.

 

**now.**

As soon as the rain subsides and the sky brightens over their heads, the two boys leave that small little creperie. Hands brushing as they walk down the Parisian streets, Harry watches Louis with wide eyes and feels like he’s eighteen all over again.

His heart is thrumming in his chest as he hears tales of Louis’ travels over the past two years – hears stories of adventures as he had travelled the globe.

And when Louis asks Harry why he’s in Paris, Harry finds himself stuttering over his words; “I – um – I’m not supposed to be here, actually.” Harry says, “It was just supposed to be a layover but the flight got delayed and now I’m stuck.”

Louis laughs; “Oh, that’s well shit, mate.”

“I know,” Harry moans, “I should be back in LA, doing actual work.”

“Oh,” Louis says, voice suddenly small and – _fuck;_ “How’s that going for you, anyway?”

“It’s – uhm, it’s good, actually,” Harry shrugs, threading his fingers through his hair, “Didn’t go exactly how I’d hoped, but I’m writing now.”

“That’s great, Haz,” Louis says and Harry looks over his shoulder at the boy next to him, slightly surprised to see how sincere the look in Louis’ eye is. He shudders out a breath and before he can respond, Louis is talking about the old days and asking if he’s spoken to any of the boys recently and the moment’s gone.

But Harry just smiles and lets Louis tell him his stories, unable to grasp the concept that this is real and Louis is, in fact, right next to him.

 

**then.**

It’s in the cold, winter air that they meet. Harry’s cheeks are a rosy red and his face is buried in a fluffy, woollen scarf, his coat pulled tight around his body as he tries to keep the warmth in and the cold, northern air out.

His hands are shaking as he lifts the camera to his face, shooting pictures of the boys running around in short shorts as they kick a ball around. It’s not the first time that he had cursed the fact that football season ran through the winter (or that his best friend insisted that Harry be the photographer of his team for every match).

He’s trying to watch – really, he is, but the wind is making his eyes sting and water and he’s finding it hard to focus on breathing, let alone the score. Instead he just keeps the camera lifted to his eye as he tries to get half-decent shots that aren’t blurred by his shivering body.

He barely notices the whistle going off indicating half time – just notices the boys jogging off the pitch and grabbing water bottles.

He feels a presence next to him and before he can tell Niall to fuck off, an unfamiliar voice is speaking; “I hope you’re the photographer and not some kind of pervert that sneaks around football games, taking photos of boy’s bums.”

Harry lets out a loud bark of laughter, dropping his camera around his neck before turning. “Not a pervert, I swear!”

His breath catches in his throat as he sees _him,_ a short-ish boy, clad in full footie gear, thighs on display and his skin-tight shirt clinging to his sweaty body. His hair’s a mess, windswept and sticking up in all direction as he looks at Harry with laughter in his eyes.

“I’m glad,” he says, “You write for the school mag, yeah?”

Harry hums in assent and nods his head.

“Well,” the boy says, ignoring the shouts of his teammates from behind him (“Stop flirtin’, Tommo, we’ve got a game to win!”), “Get some good shots of me, yeah?”

And with a wink, he’s gone – running back to his teammates.

Harry definitely doesn’t take a few too many pictures of his bum during the second half that he knows he’s going to have to delete unless he wants endless ridicule from Zayn.

 

**now.**

Somehow, they end up by the Eiffel Tower. Harry can’t say that he minds, if he’s completely honest.

(It’s like the date they never got when they were younger.)

The streets are quiet as they walk down the street, their hands brushing together and breath curling up like smoke in the cold, winter air. Harry’s hands are shaking and he can’t tell if it’s from the nerves that are pooling in his stomach or the frigid wind that’s blowing around them.

As Harry looks up, his green-eyed gaze is wide as he takes in the view in front of him.

There’s a hint of rain still in the air; clinging to blades of grass and creating puddles on the pavement. The sky is all dark greys and patches of white - the sun beginning to break through the gaps in the clouds.

He stops in his tracks as he stares up at the towering structure ahead of them. He feels Louis’ presence next to him, feels his gaze on his face but Harry doesn’t turn to look.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Louis says in a whispered voice, a wistful smile on his face.

Harry nods, staring dumbstruck at the magnificence of the view. “Did you bring us here on purpose?”

“What?” Louis says, and Harry feels a blush on his cheeks because he didn’t mean to say that.

“Nothing!” He replies quickly, grabbing at the camera around his neck; trying to capture everything in one shot; “It’s just - it really is.” He looks over a Louis, “Beautiful, I mean.”

Louis just smiles; “Yeah,” he says; “It is.”

Harry’s snapping picture after picture as they walk closer, even getting Louis to get one of him ‘holding up the Eiffel Tower’. If the picture is slightly blurry and out of focus, Harry just laughs and thanks him anyway.

Louis snatches the umbrella that’s underneath Harry’s arm, opening it up as he begins to run away,laughing maniacally. Keeping himself dry and leaving Harry in the rain that’s beginning to fall from the sky once again.

But all Harry can do is laugh as he takes a photo of Louis’ retreating back, the tower in the distance - the very top beginning to become partially obscured by the low clouds.

He takes another just as Louis turns around, a beaming smile on his face, his hair fallen from the styled quiff it had been in - flopping down onto his forehead. His arms are stretched out and the umbrella isn’t even covering his body anymore.

Harry drops his camera back around his neck before chasing after Louis.

 

**then.**

Harry’s late - so, so late.

There’s rain pouring from the sky and he forgot to wear his coat with the hood and he loaned his umbrella to his mum. His jeans are soaked through - the material growing darker with every second that passes - and the water is sinking into the fabric of his coat. He doesn’t want to think about the state of his shoes or the bottom of his jeans; probably coated with mud from where it had flicked up from the drowned grass as he’d run across the field to school.

An involuntary shiver runs through his body and he’s pretty sure all his school books are going to be wet and he’s already at least five minutes late to tutor.

He slows to a walk, breath heaving from his chest, giving up on being on time to school. He hopes he’ll at least make it to first period on time.

“Hey, Harold!”

Harry jumps, spinning around as he yanks the earphones from his ears to spot Louis Tomlinson (he may or may not have asked Niall who he was) in the car next to the pavement, passenger window rolled down as he leans across the gearstick looking dry and _warm._

“Want a lift?”

Harry nods eagerly, racing over to the car; “Please.” He pauses just before opening the door. “I don’t want to get your car dirty.”

Louis just laughs, opening the door for him, “It’s a bit late for that, mate.”

Jumping in the car and buckling his seatbelt up, Harry begins to roll the window back up.

“I should warn you, though,” Louis says as he puts the car into gear, “I only passed like, two months ago.”

“That’s okay,” Harry says, rubbing his hands together, trying to get some warmth back into them; “I’d rather risk death than stay in that weather for much longer.”

Louis laughs; “I didn’t say I was a crap driver.”

“It was implied.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says, “I’ll prove you wrong.”

Just as he finishes speaking, he presses down on the acceleration and the car jolts forward slightly and stops.

Harry laughs, “Way to prove me wrong.”

“Fucking car,” Louis mumbles, a pink flush to his cheeks, before turning the key and starting the engine again; “I haven’t stalled in ages,” he whines.

Harry starts laughing harder and moments later Louis’ joining in as they make their way to school. The rain is still beating heavily on the windscreen, the noise drowning out the sound of the radio.

They pull into the sixth form carpark, Louis turning the engine off before shrugging his own coat over his shoulder; “We’re gonna have to run for it.”

“Shit,” Harry says.

“On three?”

Harry nods, moving to grasp the door handle.

“One,” Louis begins, grabbing his bag from the backseat.

“Two,” Harry giggles, his own bag already over his shoulder.

“Three!” Louis shouts, throwing the car door open and jumping out into the wet, cold, winter air, “Fucking hell it’s cold,” he says, as he twists the key in the car door, locking it, before breaking out into a run.

Harry chases after him, laughing brightly.

They begin to head in different directions and Harry turns around as a thought comes to his mind; “Hey! How did you know my name?”

Louis throws a laugh over his shoulder; “Asked Niall!”

Harry’s smile grows as he stands in the rain, the water dripping off his curls; “Same!”

“What?”

“I asked about you too!” He yells and ignores the butterflies in his stomach at the smile that spreads across Louis’ face.

“I know, mate,” he says, laughing, before turning away with a wave and rushing into the building ahead of him.

 

**now.**

They walk back to Harry’s hotel in wet clothes and with rain still falling from the sky. Louis holds the umbrella too low and Harry can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not.

His camera hangs around his neck as they walk in a calm silence.

And when they reach the entrance to the hotel, Louis smiles; “See you Tuesday?”

“Tuesday,” Harry replies, smiling blindingly back at him.

 

 **then.**  

“How was the game?” Is the first thing Zayn asks, when Harry walks into the art room with his camera slung over his shoulder and laptop under his arm.

“Think I froze my bollocks off,” Harry says, slumping down in the chair opposite Zayn. “Got some good shots though.”

“You know what ones you’re gonna use for your article yet?”

“Nah,” Harry replied, grabbing his laptop from his bag; “Haven’t really had a chance to look through them properly yet.”

Zayn just nods and goes back to his painting. His hands are stained black from the paint and Harry can’t help but watch as he waits for his laptop to power up. He watches the way that Zayn paints with ease, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration and eyebrows furrowed. Harry smiles when Zayn looks up at him before they both settle into a comfortable silence.

Harry’s flicking through the photos when he hears the door open.

“My bum looks fuckin’ marvelous there,” he hears from right behind him, causing him to jump in shock and almost fallfrom his chair.

“Fuck,” Harry says, hand on his heart as he tries to slow his breathing down.

Louis jumps into the chair next to Harry, “Well,” he says, laughing, “I did tell you to get some good shots of me.”

Harry feels a blush spread across his cheeks, but he laughs before leaning over and punching Louis’ arm.

“Ignore him, Harry,” Niall says, and oh, Harry didn’t see him come in, “He’s all moody because we have footie practice tonight.”

Louis moans, “Don’t remind me.”

Niall just laughs, sitting down next to Zayn, “Li still having that party Friday?”

Louis grins, slouching down in his chair and grabbing his lunch from his backpack. “Of course - just don’t call it a party to him, he’ll freak.”

“Liam Payne?” Harry asks, trying to focus back on the pictures in front of him.

Louis hums and nods, mouth full of food; “You should come?”

Harry feels a grin spread across his face and he looks over his laptop screen, smirking at Zayn.

“Harry -” Zayn begins, but Harry’s cutting him off.

“We’ll be there.”

The tips of Zayn’s ears glow red and Niall is just laughing at him whilst Louis watches in confusion.

“Maybe your fantasies will become reality,” Niall chirps in and Zayn looks over at Louis nervously.

“We don’t even know if he’s gay or not,” Zayn mutters under his breath.

Louis starts laughing; “Oh!” He says, a grin matching Harry’s appears on his lips; “He is most definitely gay.”

“What?” Zayn says, putting his paintbrush down on the table - a black mark appearing on the wood.

“He’ll deny it, but he definitely had a sexuality crisis because of my bum.”

Harry and Zayn splutter and Niall just shakes his head; “Liam is gonna _kill_ you if you keep saying that.”

“Hey, there’s no shame in it,” Louis says, throwing an arm over Harry’s shoulders, “Even Harold here agrees, he did take multiple photos of it last weekend.”

“Shut up,” Harry moans, pushing Louis away from him.

Louis just smiles at his, his eyes twinkling and sparkling in the dull lighting; “So, friday?”

“Friday,” Harry agrees, nodding.

 

 **now.**  

He wakes up on his birthday with a sinking feeling in his stomach and in a cold hotel room. The phone is ringing by his bedside table and he groans as he reaches over to answer it.

“‘lo?” He says, groggily.

“Good morning, sir! We have a Louis Tomlinson waiting in the lobby for you.”

“Oh!” Harry says, sitting up straight, suddenly much more awake. A smile spreads across his lips; “Could you tell him I’ll be fifteen minutes?”

“Of course, sir!”

After a quick, “Thank you,” Harry hangs up the phone and rushes around the room getting ready.

When he steps out the elevator twenty minutes later, he spots Louis almost instantly. His green adidas hoody standing out in the posh hotel lobby. “Lou!” Harry calls, smiling.

“Hey,” Louis says, voice soft and before Harry knows what’s happening, Louis is pulling him in for a hug. “Happy Birthday,” he whispers.

Harry’s heart is fluttering in his chest and he pulls Louis tight against him, arms around Louis’ back and he sighs a small, “Thanks,” before they’re pulling apart.

A manic grin plasters itself on Louis’ face and he’s almost jumping up in excitement. “I have a surprise,” Louis says.

“Yeah?” Harry says. “Does this have something to do with why you’ve woken me at the crack of dawn?”  

“Yeah,” Louis replies, “We’re going to Disneyland.”

 

**then.**

As usual, they’re at the back of their maths classroom – the alphabetically assigned seating having gone awry a mere two weeks into the school year - sitting in those bright red plastic chairs that are almost impossible to slouch (comfortably) in.

Zayn has a black fineliner in his hand as he draws all over the back cover of Louis’ bright orange exercise book as he always does. Louis is ignoring the teacher at the front of the classroom trying to explain something or other about quadratic equations that Louis really does not understand and instead, has his compass out and is etching a (very poorly drawn) penis onto the edge of the desk.

Zayn looks over as soon as he hears the light scratching and huffs a laugh out under his breath.

“You’re gonna get us into so much shit,” he says, going back to his drawings.

Louis just shrugs; “So, Liam, huh?”

“So, Harry, huh?” Zayn replies.

Louis narrows his eyes, but there’s a smile flittering on his lips. “How comes you didn’t say anything? I could’ve totally set you up.”

Zayn shrugs, “I don’t know - I just - I always assumed that, you know, you had a _thing_ with him.”

Louis laughs, shaking his head, “Well, he’s fit ‘n all,” he says, “But he’s my best mate.” Louis’ smile drops and he looks over a Zayn, “You should go for it, is all I’m tryna say.”

“You think so?” Zayn replies, smiling.

“Definitely.”

 

**now.**

The first thing they do when they get to the magical kingdom that is Disneyland Paris is head straight to one of the shops. Harry pulls Louis by the hand once they’ve had their tickets checked out and heads straight towards the Minnie Mouse ears.

Louis laughs as Harry giggles. Harry’s got a princess tiara on his head, tangled in his curls, and Louis’ sporting a pair of bright pink Minnie ears. “You have not changed one bit,” Louis says, smiling over at Harry, a fondness in his eyes.

“Let me take a selfie,” Harry says, grabbing his phone from his pocket.

Louis just smiles, shaking his head as Harry holds out his phone in front of them. He snaps a few photos and Louis sighs in mock annoyance; “You’re gonna post those on instagram,aren’t you?”

Harry just laughs and shrugs his shoulders, “Maybe.” (He doesn’t.)

Despite Harry arguing, Louis ends up buying them the Minnie ears and the tiara.

 

**then.**

It’s not much of a party if Harry’s honest. It’s not like he had expected some kind of Project-X party, but he had expected many more drunken people.

There’s probably about fifteen of them lounging around in Liam’s living room. There’s a variety of empty (and full) bottles scattered around the room and Harry can’t help but feel a little bit nervous as he follows Niall and Zayn into the room.

“I brought friends,” Niall calls as he enters, jumping onto the sofa by the door, on top of Louis and Liam, “Be nice.”

“Get off, Niall,” Louis says, pushing at Niall’s body until he falls to the floor with a groan of muffled pain; “Now go be _nice_ and get the alcohol.”

Two hours, five bottles of Bud and one shot of vodka later, the room is beginning to spin and Harry can’t stop laughing.

Zayn had gone outside with Liam a while ago and is yet to come back; “Heeeeeey,” Harry says, crawling up on the sofa beside Louis, “Zayn and Liam are missin’.”

Louis laughs, “And you’re drunk.”

“Aren’t you?”

Louis lifts a hand and holds his thumb and forefinger close together before mumbling; “A little, maybe.”

“You are!” Harry giggles, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder.

Louis just laughs before standing up and grabbing Harry’s hands and dragging him along with him - into the kitchen. There’s the distinct smell of weed filtering in from the garden and Harry’s sure he can hear Zayn laughing through the open door.

“Wanna shot?” Louis asks, dragging Harry from this thoughts.

Harry grins, “What is it?”

“Tequila,” Louis smirks, pouring some out into a shot glass, “Body shots?”

“Salt, tequila, lime, right?” Harry recites, laughing, “Okay.”

Before he knows what’s happening, Louis is pouncing on him. Harry knows he should probably be laughing because it’s just Louis being Louis - but he has Louis’ tongue on his neck, licking a stripe just above his collarbone. His teeth scrape against his skin and Harry shivers.

Louis pulls away slightly, tipping some salt onto the skin there. He’s still close and Harry can feel his breath on his skin and his heartbeat speed up and his breath becomes more rapid. He hopes Louis doesn’t notice.

“Ready?” Louis breathes out into Harry’s neck and he nods as Louis presses the lime into his lips; “Hold that there.”

All of a sudden, Harry feels Louis’ tongue on him again, licking up the salt he’d poured there. His teeth catch on his collar bone and Harry almost lets out a gasp.

Then Louis’ pulling away, reaching behind him to grab the golden liquid. He tilts his head back and tips the shot into his mouth. Harry stares at the way Louis’ neck looks there - watches the muscles move and a small drop of tequila spills from his mouth and trails down his neck.

Louis wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before moving close to Harry. He rests a hand on his hip, before leaning forward.

It’s barely a kiss - more a brush of their lips as Louis bites into the lime in Harry’s mouth. The juice spills everywhere, dripping down Harry’s chin, but Louis just continues to suck at the lime.

Louis takes a step back and the lime drops to the floor, a smirk stretching across his lips.

But before either of them can talk, Zayn and Liam are walking in through the back door, laughing. They pause when they spot Louis and Harry, still standing slightly too close and Zayn raises an eyebrow at Harry, who shrugs.

“Leeyum,” Louis whines, moving away from Harry, stumbling towards Liam, “Everyone left.”

“They did?” Liam says, eyes wide, “When?”

“Well you went missing and we ran out of alcohol - well, almost. Plus, it is like one.”

“Fuck,” Harry says, “I should get home - ”

“Nah,” Louis says, “You should stay here.”

“Uh, Lou,” Liam says, “This isn’t your house.”

“They can help clear up in the morning?” Louis says, “Plus, your parents aren’t even back until like Tuesday.”

“I can make breakfast!” Harry says, voice slurring slightly, “I’ve been told I make a mean fry-up.”

Liam just laughs, “Alright, alright. Just crash wherever.”

“We’ll go grab sleeping bags,” Louis says, grasping Harry’s hand and dragging him through the hallway. “Oh, Niall passed out in your bed.”

 

 **now.**  

They’re queuing up for Thunder Mountain, Harry sitting up on the fence and Louis standing next to him. They both still have their headpieces on and are giggling together about everything and nothing.

And even in the cold chill of the winter air as he wears Louis’ hoodie, a princess tiara perched on top of his head, Harry laughs at Louis’ stories of his sisters. How they’re _old_ now and going through all their teenages problems.

He watches the way Louis become all animated as he talks, moving his hands and his eyes lighting up and he can feel his heart beat in his chest. He wonders if he’ll ever be over this boy in front of him - if he’ll ever be able to kiss anyone else and not think about his lips.

Wonders if he’ll ever forget the way Louis’ voice sounds when he’s drunk - the way it gets raspy and his accent becomes thicker. Harry wonders if he’ll forget Louis’ touch, the way their hands would fit perfectly together.

He wonders if he’ll ever forget those minutes in the dark room, trying to develop his photos.

As he watches Louis shiver slightly, pink ears on his head and his mouth tilted up into a smile, Harry knows that he won’t forget any of it.

 

**then.**

He’s in the dark room when it happens.

The door opens, closing quickly after, allowing only a slither of light in, and Harry doesn’t turn, focuses instead of the photos in front of him, knowing it’s going to be one of the boys.

But then there’s hands on his hips, and a body pressed up against his back. He can feel a breath on the back of his neck, and he knows - knows without asking and without looking - that it’s Louis.

Harry turns his body and the hands don’t leave his hips.  

The room is completely dark and Harry can barely make out Louis’ eyes. Harry doesn’t say anything, just watches as Louis moves closer, closer, _closer._

He’s barely breathing; holding his breath as Louis moves their bodies together, his hands still resting on Harry’s hips. There’s electric in the air, sparking around them and Harry’s afraid to move - afraid to break the spell. He forgets all about the photos behind him - forgets why he’s here because everything is _Louis_.

Then, all of a sudden, Louis moves a fraction closer and their lips are brushing. Harry can feel eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks and a nose nudging again his. He feels Louis’ breath on his lips before they’re pressed together.

It’s short - a small brush of their lips, but Harry lets his eyes fall shut nonetheless. He wraps his arms around Louis’ neck as he presses their lips together harder.

Harry breathes through his nose as he lets his mouth fall open and lets Louis press his tongue to his. The touch is gentle - tentative, as they move together. Their lips move in sync as their tongues twist together.

The touch is sweet and Harry can feel the sparks flying around them in the dark room. They kiss and kiss, getting closer and closer together.

Harry feels like his heart could burst from his chest, fluttering madly.

As Louis pulls back, his hands somehow having made their way up the back of Harry’s shirt, he smiles. Then he’s taking a step back, eyes shining as he pulls his hands away from Harry’s body.

Harry turns back to the photos behind him that he had forgotten, a small smile on his face and when he turns back, Louis’ gone.

 

 **now.**  

They have lunch at one of those quirky little cafes and Harry pays because Louis’ paid for everything else. They sit inside in an attempt to warm up and Louis talks about the rides he wants to go on next and Harry talks about life in LA. Talks about his school and his parents and Gemma. They talk about the big things and the small things.

They talk about how Louis broke his leg playing football about two months after Harry left and how Harry hated everyone at his new school. Harry tells Louis about looking for work - how he thinks he might want to write for a magazine and maybe take photos too.

Louis tells Harry how he’s been travelling and he’s got interviews lined up for when he gets back to London.

They talk about Zayn and Liam and Niall. It’s like a breath of fresh-air Harry didn’t know he needed.

They drink too much beer and stumble out of the cafe, giggling together as they make their way toward the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. Their arms are linked together and there’s a warmth flowing through Harry’s veins, and this - this is _home._

 

**then.**

Somewhere along the line, lunch in the art room turns into a thing. Meeting up there most days in the warm classroom, instead of outside in the cold British air. They tease each other; Louis annoying Liam until he gets the reaction he wants, Niall steals everyone’s food until they learn to bring extra just for him. Harry tries to get work done because believe it or not, they have got to do their a-levels.

The kiss doesn’t get brought up and Harry doesn’t try. He hasn’t told any of them - doesn’t know what he would say. So they keep pretending it didn’t happen and Harry and Louis act like they normally do.

But there’s something behind their touches now - charged with electricity and Harry feels every touch like a burn to his skin. And every interaction means something so different.

He can’t bring himself to bring it up because he can’t ruin what they have. He can’t take that risk - can’t take the fall. So they keep pretending and pretending and become closer and closer.

And Harry thinks that they are the best friends he’ll ever have.

 

**now.**

It’s after eating dinner at the Rainforest Cafe (Harry’s choice, of course) that Louis gets more and more subdued. Despite managing to get the entire restaurant to sing happy birthday to him and all Harry had been able to do was grin with a blush staining his cheeks, Louis became quiet.

Harry knows that this is where it could change and this time - this time he’s not going to leave without a fight.

“Thank you,” Harry says, pulling Louis in for a tight hug as they reach his hotel, “This - it’s been wonderful. Perfect, actually.”

Louis just shrugs, smiling tightly, “You’re welcome. I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Harry whispers, looking down at the ground, “I - ”

“I guess,” Louis cuts in, “This is goodbye, then?”

“What?” Harry says, shocked, “No, I - Louis.”

“You’re flying back to LA tomorrow, Harry,” Louis says, “What did you expect was going to happen?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says.

“It’s been nice and all - ”

“Why won’t you just talk to me about it?” Harry says, his eyebrows creased; “Yell at me or punch me in the face. Don’t – I can’t bare you like this. It’s all fake, Lou. We both know it.”

“The fuckin’ cheek,” Louis spits, taking a step backwards, away from the cover of the umbrella, shivering as the rain hits him. “So sue me, Harry, for making the most out of the time I get to spend with you now and not dwell on what happened, or didn’t happen, all those years ago, when I know that you’re going to be leaving anyway.”

“Lou – ”

“Because you leave,” Louis yells, his voice strained; “Everyone fucking leaves me, don’t you get it? You just got up and left – ”

“Don’t,” Harry says, voice harsh. “You told me to go! You’re the one who told me to leave.”

“What was I supposed to do?! You were so excited, you – I couldn’t fucking tell you that I needed you. I’m not selfish.”

“Maybe I wanted you to be selfish!” Harry shouts, “I would’ve stayed. I would’ve!”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Louis says, his voice scratchy and his hair is laying flat against his forehead from the rain. “You didn’t stay.”

“I know,” Harry replies. “I’ve regretted it every day since.”

“Don’t – ” Louis begins with watery eyes, “Don’t say that, Harry. Just, don’t. I’m not supposed to feel fucking sorry for you.”

“Well, it’s true!” Harry pauses, as if lost in thought; “I don’t regret going. I – It’s been great for me, it has. But – I regret losing you. I regret that we didn’t try. I regret not starting. I regret not having the courage. I – ”

And all of a sudden, there are lips upon his. There’s wet hair brushing against his face and eyelashes against his cheek.

Harry reacts instantly, grasping Louis’ hair and pulling him tighter, dropping the umbrella he had been holding to the floor.

Rain is pouring, falling from the sky, trying to find it’s way between their bodies – but it’s almost hopeless. They’re pressed together so tight they could be one.

Their lips move in tandem, grasping at each other before Harry opens his mouth under Louis, their tongues twisting together.

Louis pulls back suddenly, his eyes blown wide open but still sparkling with sincerity; “I loved you, Harry. Back then. And maybe we were young and stupid, smoked too much weed and drank too much alcohol, but it didn’t make it any less real. I really fucking loved you and – ”

“I did too,” Harry replies, barely above a whisper; “I – god, Lou – I loved you so much it hurt.”

And suddenly, they’re kissing again and Harry feels seventeen.

 

**then.**

“I’m leaving,” Harry says, his ankle still sore from the tattoo that had been inked into his skin only days before.

“You just got here?” Louis says questioningly.

“No,” Harry sighs, sitting down on Louis’ bed, “I mean – my mum, she got a new job and, um - ”

Louis freezes, “Spit it out, Harry.”

Looking down at his hands, “I got in.”

“You’re making no sense, mate,” Louis says and Harry groans in frustration.

“That school – the one I applied to ages ago. The arts one?”

Louis nods, but there’s still confusion in his eyes.

“I got in.”

Louis breathes out, smiling as he turns to Harry, “That’s – Harry, that’s fucking amazing!”

“It’s in LA.”

“What?”

Harry sits still, barely moving, barely breathing.

“You’re moving?” Louis says, his back stiff and Harry can see the muscles tense, “To America?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, “Yeah.”

“That’s – well, you’ll do great,” Louis says, a smile so fake plastered across his face and his voice is off. “You’ll take them by storm.”

“Lou – ”

“You’re gonna be amazing, Haz,” Louis says, turning to him.

Harry blushes, “You’ll come say goodbye at the airport, right?”

Louis hesitates for a moment, before nodding unsurely. “When?”

Harry blanches; “Three weeks.”

“Oh,” Louis says and the air suddenly turns awkward and Harry doesn’t know how to act. This isn’t them. Ever since they’ve met, it’s never been them. “How long have you known?”

“Mum starts her job then and – ”

“You’ve know for ages, haven’t you?”

“I – my mum’s been trying for this promotion for ages, so my parents told me to apply, just in case. I didn’t think I’d get in – didn’t even know if mum would get the job. But, um, she did?”

“Fucking hell, Harry,” Louis says, and Harry flinches at the anger in his tone, “So there’s been the possibility that you could move for months now and you didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t know how!” Harry says, getting to his feet; “I – what was I supposed to say? Oh, my family might be moving to America and I just be able to go to my dream school, but it might not even happen.”

“But it is!” Louis shouts, “You’re moving to another fucking country and you didn’t even say anything.”

“I’m telling you now,” Harry pleads.

“A bit of warning would’ve been nice.”

Harry feels tears gather in his eyes and he tries to blink them away; “Can we – I have three weeks left and I don’t want to spend them fighting with you.”

Louis takes a step closer to Harry and reaches up, brushing away a stray tear that had fallen from his eye. “Okay,” Louis says, his voice cracking, “Just – can you leave? Please? I need – I need some time to myself, okay?”

Harry nods, looking down at the floor, “Alright,” he says, uncertainty tainting his voice, “I’ll – um, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, “Yeah.”

 

**now.**

As his plane touches down onto the familiar soil that has been home for the past few years, Harry breathes a sigh of relief. But breathing in the Los Angeles air as he gets off the plane doesn’t feel like home anymore.

He thinks back to leaving Paris, how he’d left Louis on the bed, the bed sheets covering his naked body. He hadn’t the heart to wake him – hadn’t the courage for another goodbye.

Instead, he’d left a Polaroid he had taken on their first day. Sitting outside in the cold winter air after the rain had subsided and the sun was peeking through clouds. A rainbow had founds it’s way across the sky, directly above Louis’ head and Harry couldn’t help it – had just snapped a picture as Louis was telling what was sure to have been an epic tale.

Louis’ eyes were shining bright with joy, his mouth slightly open and his hands accentuating his story and Harry had thought – this is it. This is his inspiration.

So, before grabbing his bags and making his way out of the hotel, he grabbed a sharpie and scribbled on the back of the Polaroid, before leaving it on his phone.

 _Meet me?_ Harry had written. _4pm, February 14th at that creperie?_

 

**then.**

The weeks leading up to Harry’s departure were filled with too much alcohol, too much weed and too many tears (on Harry’s part, anyway).

They hang out in that barn behind Liam’s house almost everyday of the weekend and it’s tense and awkward because Louis’ isn’t really Louis. He’s quiet and withdrawn and it makes Harry feel like there’s a knife in his chest.

The night before he leaves, they all meet up there once again. They’re lounging around as they usually are, chatting and ignoring the fact that Harry’s leaving.

“I should – I should probably head off soon,” Harry says, voice quiet, “Told mum I’d help with last minute packing.”

Harry blinks too hard, trying to stop tears from forming in his eyes; “I - I’m gonna miss you.”

Niall gets up first, jumping to his feet and pulling Harry in for a tight hug; “Gonna miss you too, Haz.”

Then the others are joining in, hugging each other until they can’t breathe and Harry lets the tears fall silently, until Zayn’s brushing them away.

“Hey,” he says, softly, “Don’t be a stranger, alright? There is such thing as skype.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head, “I know, I know.”

Zayn smiles and Niall gives Harry one last hug as Harry moves towards the exit, “Now go take the US by storm, you’ll soon forget about us.”

Harry shakes his head violently, “Don’t think I could forget you if I tried.”

And then he’s stepping out into the cold, pulling his coat up around his neck, trying to protect himself from the wind.

 

**now.**

It’s barely two weeks later and the streets are filled with people. The sun is shining bright in the sky and Harry feels a smile stretch across his face.

He walks that semi-familiar path across the city, camera once again slung around his neck as he takes more photos. The sun is shining high in the sky, spreading it’s beams on the buildings around them.

It’s ten to four when he steps through the doors to the creperie and he manages to order himself a drink and sits in the same place he sat those weeks ago when he’d heard that voice again.

He sips at his drink and waits.

 

**then.**

Harry had been harbouring a small spark of hope as he’d walked through the airport. He’d hoped, maybe ridiculously, that Louis would be there, like he’d said.

He’d hoped that Louis would come back and whisk him away, declare his love, kiss his lips. He’d dreamt of it, prayed that he would do something.

He doesn’t.

 

**now.**

By six, Harry tries not to let the tears fall from his eyes and instead gathers up his stuff, glad he’d thought to bring his laptop.

He knows he shouldn’t trust so blindly, he’s always been told he does. He shouldn’t hope so much - shouldn’t let that spark ignite.

But he does.

Every single time.

 

**later.**

He loves London - he really does.

He loves the hecticness of the city and the millions of people. He loves the architecture and the hustle and bustle of people going on their everyday lives.

Harry often finds himself walking through the streets, taking photos and writing in his new journal. He writes anything that comes to mind and isn’t sparing with the photos he takes.

It’s so fast, especially compared to the relaxed Los Angeles lifestyle.

He’s walking down an empty side street near Knightsbridge. The white marbled houses are shining in the setting sun and Harry lifts his camera to his eyes.

He takes a step back, knocking into someone behind him.

“Oops,” he says but as he turns to apologise, the words die on his lips.

“Hi.”

Harry shakes his head and a laugh tumbles from his lips; “Louis,” he says.

“Harry, I - ”

“Fuck you,” Harry says, “I - I waited there, you know. I’m not doing this again. I know I left, okay? But you didn’t try and keep contact with me either. It works both ways and you can’t - you can’t push all of your fucking issues onto me because it’s _not fair._ ”

“I - I didn’t - _Harry_ ,” Louis says, his voice cracking - breaking on his name.

“I thought - I thought that maybe there was hope. That maybe we could try or _something_ but you didn’t even - you could’ve said. You could’ve got my number from Niall since he managed to stay in contact with me. You could’ve said you weren’t interested.”

“I was!” Louis says, reaching forward and trying to grasp Harry’s hands, “I am, I’m so fucking interested - I just, I couldn’t deal with _another_ goodbye, Harry. I can’t - you’re the best fucking thing that ever happened to me and I just let you go and I was stupid and a teenager and I couldn’t do anything right.”

Harry wipes at his eyes, “You’re a prick.”

Louis shakes his head, digging his feet into the floor, “I know.”

They stand in silence for a few moments before Louis’ lifting his gaze from the floor; “So, is it too late for me to say yes to that date to a creperie?”

Harry can’t help but let a laugh fall from his lips; “We can’t go to Paris, Lou.”

“I know,” Louis says, grasping Harry’s hands and pulling him down the road; “But there’s plenty in London, too, you know?”

Harry pulls at Louis’ hands, dragging him to a stop. “Tell me I’m not getting my hopes up for nothing.”

“Harry Styles,” Louis says, smiling shyly up at him, “I really love you.”

Harry grins, “I really love you, too.”

Then Louis’ standing up on his tip-toes, their fingers still linked as he presses his lips to Harry’s and this time, it’s full of hope, happiness and most of all, _love._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my fab beta, you da best.


End file.
